Beautiful War
by lontanissima
Summary: Inspired by Tony's words *dinner and stuff*, let's say this fiction is about just that. It's M rated so you all should know what that means ;) also the story fit with the prompt: "scars" that was given on LiveJournal group RaydorFlynn


_This started as a challenge from my very own Flynn and Provenza. It was a while since I wrote an M rated and I did miss it, so here it is._

_Special thanks to _**Anne, **_my wonderful friend that beta this story for me._

**Akachankami** _made the fantastic cover for this story, thank you dear. __  
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_And last but not the least my dearest_ **kate04us** _and_ **Kadi219 **_thank you girls for the challenge and for all the fun we share together!_

_In this story are hidden two songs. One is very easy to spot. I wonder if any of you can find the other :)_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Here they are again, sitting in his car while he drives her home. Another closed case, another evening, another dinner; they had fun. They always do. They watch, they talk, they laugh, they share, and they touch. With the touches she is often conscious, always delicate and almost polite. He tries that too, offering the respectful and friendly touches. In the beginning, he could stick to that rule.

At first he could only watch her; he likes to drink her in with his eyes. She knows it too well. His eyes always roamed her silhouette; his hot gaze caused her to blush, at first. Then she started to make an effort, a subtle one. Every time they would go out, in her meticulous way, she would curl her hair wilder, wear her dresses shorter, make her cleavage deeper and her heels higher.

She observes him too, enjoying fully the way he chooses bold colors for his suits. The man can wear a suit in a sinful way.

Sometime she matches him, color for color. She likes when that happens. It's a wonder for her now, knowing what color he will put on the next. It had become a game. Silly? Yes. Pathetic? Maybe… but at least they enjoy playing with colors, and at the end of a long week, it's nice - really nice - to be a little silly and a bit pathetic together.

So he plays with her, leaving her small hints at work. Usually the color of the mug he serves her coffee in will indicate the shade of his tie. The post-it he leaves on her desk may or may not be the color of his dress shirt. He's sneaky like that, and so she plays along. The color of the mug becomes the color of her scarf, and the post-it will match her shoes, or something she wears underneath her dress. But that part is only for her; he really has no idea.

All the effort made in this game of preparation is rewarded the second she opens the door of her condo. They each subtly hold their breath as they thoroughly inspect each other. His grin and her half smile reflect their mutual satisfaction with the results.

Rusty is usually sitting on the couch with his laptop, pretending to focus on the screen as she opens the door. He watched the two of them, idiots (as Provenza would say), and impatiently waits for the moment when Flynn will finally greet her with a kiss. There is a bet after all, with lots of money at stake. He doesn't want to lose.

"Sharon."

"Andy."

Every conversation starts this way. In the beginning the awkward silence would linger between them. She really hated the awkwardness; he didn't feel comfortable with silence. So they talked.

Their favorite topic had become the wedding. That was because it was a shared experience. Remembering helps them feel at ease again. Then they talk about ballet and dance lessons. One night Andy confesses in a small voice that he went to watch the boys practice. She tries hard to swallow back the emotion that his admission caused, but the thin layer of unshed tears cover her eyes, and for a moment she won't look at him. He didn't mind.

She offers insight on new ballets, books even. She likes this topic of conversation. He notices her voice changes as she talks, the emotions clearly audible. It's because of her daughter, the dancer. She misses her. It's been too long since the last time she saw her, held her. Sharon is confident that this will change soon; her dancing bean promised she will be home soon. Until then, she enjoys talking to Andy about dance, performances and different ballet positions, even if she is hardly an expert.

When the threat of awkward silence threatens again, Andy starts to talk about their last case. Early in their friendship, she wasn't a fan of that reaction. She liked to leave work where it belonged, but this was necessary for him, his way of coping. So now she's used to it. It has even started to help her cope when a case is particularly difficult. She has discovered that it's better not to hide; it's easier to talk.

He analyzes the case once again with some perspective and bit of humor. She likes that part, though she will never admit it. Listening to him calling suspects, lawyers and everyone involved in the crimes "idiots" and "dirt bags" amuses her every time. She should shake her head at him, show some disapproval. Instead she rolls her eyes at him, and snorts with laugher.

"What?" He asks in an innocent voice. His infuriatingly boyish grin never failed to affect her.

"Oh, nothing," she answers with nonchalance and careless ease just to tease him.

They laugh.

He tells her stories from the good old days. For her sake, they don't always include him and Provenza getting in and out of trouble. Those stories she knows very well. Their legendary adventures were reasons for ongoing laughter throughout the whole station, and among her division as well. He likes to entertain her, to listen to the melodic sound of her laughter.

They joke about Taylor.

Andy knows secrets about that man. They were friends once. Sharon realizes she shouldn't laugh at this, but he flashes his grin again and she is lost. He is such a gossip, sometime even worse than Gavin, but he doesn't need to know that, so she keeps that thought to herself.

She makes him laugh too, mostly with her reactions and slight blushes… and those adorable moments when she pretends to be shy. He laughs quietly, under his breath as to not to disturb her. She blushes even more.

She has her share of funny stories, too. In FID, telling stories to someone outside her department was highly unprofessional. She investigated officers and often their misconduct involved their personal lives; she didn't like to gossip. However Andy assured her that since Major Crimes rescued her from the dark side, she should share and laugh. So she does.

Her favorite moments are when they share a good laugh.

Andy felt an enormous satisfaction the first time she finally gave in and accepted his request to pick her up for dinner. Initially, she didn't want to hear of it. She would go in her own vehicle, using Rusty and his needs as an excuse. But when Andy called her on it and insisted, she could only compromise. Now they ride together. He likes it. Her perfume lingers in his car - even the morning after their dinners - and he feels better knowing she got home safe beyond a text to confirm when they get home.

On good days, he shares his retirement dreams with her, and sometimes she shares a secret or two.

They share desserts. Sharon would politely decline his offer to order one; Andy would order one anyway. A superb plate of fruit or sweet cheesecake would arrive at the table, and she couldn't resist. It didn't matter how hard she tried. That's why it became a game for him: order something she could not refuse. It revealed her preferences…and vices. He found himself trying to anticipate her well hidden cravings throughout the night.

She indulged him and they would eat it together, at first with two forks, but as one dinner grew into more they started to share those too.

Andy loves to feeds her. There is no sound more enjoyable than listening to her humming in pleasure. When he gets eager or impatient at this little game, she gently touches his hand and slowly traces his long fingers to his knuckles to tap on them. He smiles every time, and waits. He has no problem with her setting the pace. Instead of rushing he opens his fingers and hooks them together. They share a dessert, a fork, a touch, and every move is in unison as they intimately feed one other.

At their age, this should be forbidden; at their age, this whole situation shouldn't be allowed. The wildly flirtatious grins, the light touches and the slightly blushes. They must look pathetic. They should do something about it, stop it. But they won't; they can't. And they are fine with that.

He usually knows it's time to take her home when she touches his arm and leans on to his side. It's her unconscious cue. Or maybe it's conscious. Tonight he notices she's been more touchy, more aware of him throughout the evening.

When they arrived at the restaurant, she'd slipped her arm under his and pressed herself to his side. He thought very little of it at the time. After all, it was a windy night in LA; maybe she was just cold. When she sat down at the table, she sat next to him (usually she sat across from him). Now that he thought about it, she made sure to bump him every time she crossed and uncrossed her legs during dinner. It was always a light brush against his ankle or shin, but her hand would land on his knee in apology, each time a little higher on the thigh. And then there was the faint caress along the length of his shoulder when she'd excused herself to the restroom. Her unique scent had made him hungry, well beyond the mixed aromas of the food, and his eyes hungrily followed her as she weaved her way through the tables.

It wasn't that he minded these subtle touches. Not at all. He just wondered.

"Are we celebrating?" she asked with one eyebrow curved upward. When she returned to the table there was a glass of white wine accompanying the dessert. He was nursing his usual cranberry juice and soda.

"I don't know, you tell me," he teased.

She hummed.

"I guess there is something I should tell you," her hesitant voice made him nervous. He leaned in to the chair so he could better look at her. She took a seat and for a long moment she was quiet. Suddenly she looked directly in his eyes, took a deep breath and said: "I'm divorced."

The expression was confused, but his eyes were excited. She decided to focus on those eyes.

She observed him from the rim of the half full glass of sweet, white wine.

"How?...When?...What?" He stammered. These were the only words he could utter.

She was pleased. Somehow the teasing threw him off his game, and that made it easier for her.

"Does it matter?" The question came out spontaneously.

He had considered his response. It should matter, for her, for him, for them, and yet…

"I'm not sure. You tell me."

He was being honest. He liked their games and teases, he enjoyed every moment of it, but whatever _this_ was he wanted to do it right. Truth be told, he had no intention of playing with their feelings at all.

She sighed, this was the conversation they had to have at same point and she needed to honest with him as well. "I have been for quite some time now."

He wasn't prepared for this answer. For any of it.

"What has changed?" His eyes were getting darker and warmer, but his posture was still rigid.

"Andy," she said, her voice low and tick. "I needed some time to process everything, to understand, to heal."

"I would have given you time. I never pushed you, I..." He started to defend, explain.

"I know," she interrupted him quickly before he worked himself up before the conversation got started. "But I needed to do this myself."

She smiled gently at him, reassuringly.

He just stared and silently considered her words.

Maybe it was good she did it all by herself, but he really wanted to understand, just so he could be there for her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.

"I am now." The words were followed by her leaning into his side and firmly touching his arm.

She was fine and the dinner was over.

For the first time, the dessert was forgotten, left on the table as they hurried out to his car.

He is restless; she is confident.

She is divorced.

He notes she looks happy and keeps touching him. To reassure him nothing has changed? Or to signal that it has?

"So, this was a date?" he breaks the silence when he stops the car at a red light.

He turns to look at her and she smiles at the question.

"Would you mind if it was?" Now it is her turn to ask the unspoken questions.

"Not at all." His attention returns to the road.

"But Sharon, next time please tell me before, so I can, hm… bring you flowers or something," he teased.

She tries to suppress her laughter. "I think you are doing just fine. But I promise, next time I will."

She is divorced. He can't actually wrap his head around this.

"You should have told me." There is a hint of sadness in his voice and she understands he is not referring to the date idea.

"I know." She answers softly and quietly, but she won't apologize. He is aware of that.

He helps her get out of the car. They are in his usual spot in her parking garage.

Closing the door after her, he moves toward the elevator so he can see her to her door, but her hand stops him. He turns towards her and waits.

"Andy, I know I've dropped this bomb on you out of the blue, but –"

"No, Sharon." Now it's his turn to interrupt her. "We are fine."

To prove it, he leans in to her and places a lingering, warm kiss on her cheek, nuzzling the side of her face with his nose. Her hand travels to the side of his neck and their eyes lock. The wave of liquid desire hits them both as his dark eyes gaze at her and hers sparkle with anticipation. There is no need for more words.

Tonight they had enough of watching, talking, laughing, sharing and touching. Tonight they want to taste and feel and love.

Her hand moves to the nape of his neck and he places his hands at her waist. While she is tilting her head and closing her eyes, he's closing the space between them.

And their lips finally meet.

She responds immediately opening her mouth slightly, just enough to capture his soft lips. He moves slowly at first, to live in the moment, to savor her taste. She presses herself against him; his hands tug her firmly into him.

Her fingers are brushing through his spiky hairs, her nails scratching his scalp.

Andy is trying to maintain control. The soft fabric of her dress tickles his fingers but his palms start to ache for her skin. With determination, he moves. In just a few steps, her back is firmly pinned against the concrete column. The rough and cold cement is nearly forgotten when his lips start their journey from her jaw to her neck. She tilts her head to grant him better access to her pulse point, the pulp of his lips feel the quick pump of her blood as his tongue traces the length of her aorta.

A soft moan escapes her when his teeth nibble _that_ sensitive spot, right where she puts the extra drop of perfume. That melodic sound gets carried away by the echo of the empty parking garage, and it hits him right in the gut. His hips push into her, and on instinct she offers her pelvis.

Andy groans. He needs bare skin, now.

Sharon feels the pressure of his fingers increase when they reach her nude thighs. Andy possessively captures her legs and wraps them around his hips. His hands grab her backside solidly and with excessive force, he lifts her, leaving her compressed between the solid wall of his chest and the cold, scratchy pillar.

She feels him against her, and the thought of his hard member in her core elicits a mix of pain and excitement. The lust and anticipation has set them on fire.

"Put me down," she manages to say, breathless when his tongue caresses the top of her deep cleavage.

In response, he slams her harder against the wall, unwilling to let her go. Now that he finally has her, the fear of her slipping away is primordial. He can't let that happened.

It's not that she minds being held so tightly by him, but they are not in their twenties or forties for that matter. Someone could get injured, and that would be a waste of a wonderful night. She is not willing to let that happened.

With both hands, she captures his cheeks and lifts his head. She gives him a challenging look before she starts kissing him again.

Her kiss is demanding. Her tongue enters his mouth with vigor and fervor. They battle for position. She is determined to steal every last ounce of his breath. But when his lungs shrink and the pain is unbearable, he pulls away, panting heavily in her neck. His grip on her loosens, and he hears her command again: "Put me down, Andy."

And so he does.

He wants to take a step back from her, to give her some space. He understands the tone of her voice, and the message is loud and clear. He briefly wonders if his passionate fury overwhelmed her, frightened her. But as he tries to pull away from her, releasing her waist and stepping back, she stops him. She is not ready to lose the connection, not yet.

Their eyes meet. He stares into her emerald eyes, sparkling with longing. She leans closer to his face, nuzzling his cheek as she whispers in his ear. "Come upstairs."

His eyes darken at her words.

"Rusty?" He asks out of concern, but his hands have returned to her body, already missing her.

"Out all night, sleepover."

Her eyes close when his hands land on her back. She missed that sensation, having her back touched, caressed.

"Are you sure?" He needs know. He would loathe if she regretted it, regretted them. He'd had his share of awkward mornings with random mistakes. They deserved better. If this was going to happen, there couldn't be room for clumsy and uncomfortable silence after.

Sharon opens her eyes and wonders about his hesitation. She searches his depths and understands he needs reassurance. A smile slides on her face, and this time her lips meet his in a slow, languid, confident kiss. This was one he could build his life on. She already knows she has his heart, now she wants his body. If life will be generous with them, he will give her his soul too. She is prone to give as much as she gets.

Andy doesn't need convincing. He takes her hand and almost jogs to the elevator. She laughs quietly at his urgency. This is exactly the reaction she was hoping for. She made an effort to catch up with him, her five inches heels made it difficult, but she is determined. She won't slow him down.

The elevator door opens, and this time Andy is buckled against the wall. Sharon opens his jacket and her hands start to wander over his broad torso. He draws her closer, grabbing her waist with force. The motion made her head fall into his neck and she doesn't waste any time. She finally tastes his skin.

She hears him gasp and, when her tongue traces the shell of his ear and nibbles his lobe, he tightens his grip on her backside.

With a quick movement, he turns her around and presses her back in to his chest. One hand spread across her stomach to keep her still and the other brushes her hair out of his way. He bites her neck right under her ear, without a care if he leaves a mark. Sharon whimpers from the pleasure pain and tries to step out of his embrace. His hold on her is strong.

"I want you." His voice is commanding while his hot breath teases her ear. She shivers against him.

In response, she tilts her rear and moves boldly against his hard groin. The sound he makes is a mix of irritation and favor. She is satisfied. The desire dances between them mercilessly.

It's a beautiful war.

The elevator doors open and they move together. No one is consenting to break their body's connection. The walk to her condo is interrupted by the constant touching, kissing and pulling. Opening the door is even a hardship, especially when her hands are otherwise occupied. Yet, somehow they manage, and the first item to hit her floor is his jacket. Her cardigan immediately follows. His fingers slide across her satin, bare arms. He watches her in absolute bliss as she takes in every caress he has to offer.

She is beautiful. The pink flush of arousal glows on her cheeks and down her neck. Her lips are swollen and only a faint trace of lipstick remains, the rest is on his lips.

Her soft smile and messy hair make her even more irresistible. Andy slips his hand through her thick locks, and holds her still while he captures her mouth in hungry urgency.

She hums, and the soft sound vibrates through both of them. She loosens his tie, but not before tugging him even closer to fully enjoy the sweet invasion of his tongue. The tie slips from her fingers and the buttons of his shirt are already being undone as he slowly maneuvers them through the hallway. Her rapid movements reflect her need as she rushes to put her hands on his bare flesh.

His skin is hot and dry. The shirt is long gone. When she reaches for his belt, her hands are imprisoned between his, and he pulls them over her head. She is pressed against the wall, gently this time.

Andy slides his hand across her side, only lightly touching her breast. Sharon arches into him, desperate for more, but he teases her, slowly unzipping her dress without touching her skin.

The metal teeth of the zipper mingle with their heavy breathing. She tries to wriggle from his embrace, but his grip is firm, and still. Too still.

"_Andy!_" she gasps his name. She needs his hands to explore, his fingers to caress the uncovered skin on her back. "This is not playing fair."

"Yeah…" he breathes out, and his mouth finds a way to her ear. "You see, _Sharon_, your rules don't apply tonight." And he digs his teeth into her sensitive, taut neck.

"Is that so?" her lips move along his jaw as she desperately tries to find a way to steal another kiss from him.

"Yeah," he leans away from her - just for a moment - to watch her as he frees her hands and starts to peel the dress off her. He wants her naked, on his terms.

The dress falls at her ankles and she hears him whisper "beautiful." His voice is raspy, heavy with want, and it ignites a fire in her long forgotten until tonight.

Andy is taken aback by the ferocity of her action and finds himself pressed against her bedroom's door.

"Take of your pants off. Now!" She firmly grips his broad shoulders.

He smirks. "Such a bossy Lady."

The last syllable is swallowed up by her mouth reclaiming his lips and tongue.

He will obey, but not without a fight. So he teases and taunts. His movements are slow as the back of his hand caresses her stomach and navel, his knuckles sliding against her panties where the wetness can be felt. Sharon writhes every time his hand reaches just right _there_.

"You are an evil man, Lieutenant Flynn." She accuses, and moans.

"Hope you don't mind," he teases, while sliding one finger past the wet silk and lace material to apply pressure to just the right place.

"Not at all," she barely manages to breath. The inebriation of liquid sex is upon her.

The anticipation is killing them both. Naked and hard, he scoops her from the floor and opens the door to her bedroom. She doesn't resist this time. If he wants to carry her to the bed, then so be it.

His strong arms are holding her by the waist and she grinds against him, holding him at his neck.

He lays her in the middle of the bed, devouring her figure as she looked up at him naked and ready. He steps between her bended knees, and his eyes drop to the space between her thighs. She arcs her spine and for a moment he thinks he has never seen anything so erotic in his entire life. He bends down and kisses her lips, slowly, seductively, then moves down her neck. His kisses are light like feathers, but they burn her skin. Her fingertips drift across his back and tug at his boxers. He slips out of them and when their eyes lock, their bodies connect, making them one.

The teasing war transforms into a beautiful dance.

Before the music of desire hits the first notes, he waits for her to adjust to him. He catches a glimpse of her faint smile and feels the subtle sway towards him, and it signals her readiness.

The dance begins.

Slowly, together and in totally harmony they surrender to this primordial need. He gently kneads her aching breasts; her nails graze down his back and her hands cup his proud male ass. The music in the room gets louder. The small, soft sounds she elicits are so sensual that envelops Andy in a rhythmic frenzy. The beat increases, so do his thrusts. Their bodies undulate with the new accords. The dance is quicker, their breaths are shorter.

She lifts her hips to accommodate him. His satisfaction doesn't go unnoticed as he kisses her and groans in to her mouth as he drives in deeper. They are burning, sweating and living deliriously every last second of this motion.

And they Dance Till The End Of Love.

The love came, for both on them, in an outburst of ecstasy at the final moment of release. He holds her tight as she shudders in his arms, the waves of rapture crashing through her again and again. He anchors to her when his own explosion hits him like lighting.

Her nails dig deep in his shoulder; his hand buried deep down between their legs in the button of her pleasure.

"Oh God," she cries out when her breathing allows.

"Nha… Just Andy," he teases. "But you can call me whatever you'd like."

She snorts and shakes her head at him. "I'll keep that in mind."

Sharon wants to say something more, but he kisses her again, nibbling her bottom lip while gently slipping out of her.

Andy relaxes next to her, still breathing heavy as he reaches for her. She places her head in the crook of his neck, entangling their legs together. Her hand rests above his heart and she enjoys the strong beat of it.

"You are beautiful," he whispers again.

She nods and her hand starts caressing the hair that sprinkles his torso. Her fingertips read the story of his body, written by the scars of many years on the job, and then some.

She props herself up on an elbow and kisses him deeply when her fingers cross upon the long hollow on his lower abdomen. She caress the scar that brings back so many memories.

"I'm glad you are here," she says against his lips, every word whispered clearly. The meaning of her words are clear to him. He takes her hand in his and brings it to his lips.

"Me too."

Andy closes his eyes and starts drift to sleep.

When he feels her getting up he immediately grabs her by the arm and tugs her right back into his embrace.

"Where are you going?"

"Hm… I was going to bring us water and pick up our clothes."

"We can do that later."

He pouts at her. "Come on, I will get cold if you leave."

"You know there is a blanket on the bed right?" she teases, and traces the brow on his forehead.

"Yes, but your body is way more comfortable than any blanket." His expressive tone is comical.

"Andy," she rolls her eyes at him, "Rusty will be back early in the morning and our clothes are spread all over the condo."

"Do you want me to leave?" he suddenly asks. Now that she mentioned Rusty, he isn't sure if she wants him to stay.

"No, why? Do you have other plans?"

Before he can answer, she kisses him. He senses so much promise for their future.

He likes this new way of communication between them.

"I wouldn't dream of it." His voice is a little breathless.

"Good. How about we make a deal," she says. "I will quickly clean things up, and meanwhile you can run a bath for us."

He reaches for her cheek and his thumb lightly caresses it.

"I like this deal."

Together, they rise from the bed. She puts on a silky robe and starts to walks out, but he stealthily turns her around. He tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear and then captures her swollen lips in a long kiss. The passion between them is not so easily extinguished.

Oh yes, the beautiful war is not over for tonight.

* * *

_Thank you! _


End file.
